


Star Wars Bobble Heads

by totalizzyness



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Q's a nerd, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totalizzyness/pseuds/totalizzyness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no reason for him to be getting this stressed over a potential shag. Even if it was James bloody Bond.</p><p>The evening following <i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/565735">Flirt Until Stupid</a></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Star Wars Bobble Heads

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetad, all mistakes are my own.

Q had managed to sneak out of work earlier than he usually would have, much earlier than Bond thought he was leaving. He hurried home, buying a few essentials from the Tesco Extra on the way. There was no way James Bond was coming to his small home to find it in the state he usually left it in. The bed needed to be made, sheets changing, the washing needed to be hid, the dishes needed to be done, and the tea from three nights ago needed to be binned. He also needed to hide all evidence that he lived a lonely, nerdy life. Starting with the boxset of Babylon 5 that was sprawled across the coffee table.  
  
Q had never cleaned so efficiently and so quickly in his life. He knew Bond was used to the finer things in life, and he hoped he’d at least appreciate the bed sheets were clean even if they weren’t 100% Egyptian cotton.  
  
He hid the spare parts of the computers he’d disassembled in the living room  in a box in his closet, throwing a few jackets and coats over it in case Bond decided to go snooping -- which he most likely would.  
  
He took a quick tea break to calm himself down. There was no reason for him to be getting this stressed over a potential shag. Even if it was James bloody Bond. Whilst lounging back in his armchair, cup of tea sitting warmly between his hands, he made a quick check-list of things that still needed to be done. He still needed to make some food, but was unsure if Bond would find it rude he ate without him, or would just march himself in to Q’s flat and take the quartermaster straight to bed. He needed to dry the towels and put them in the bathroom, how embarrassed he’d be if Bond took a shower in his flat and couldn’t find a bloody towel.  
  
Whilst the towels were in the dryer, he gave his shelves a quick once over for anything slightly incriminating. He was sure Bond knew he was quirky nerd, so his collection of Star Wars bobble-heads could stay, propping up some Russian epics next to them. That way his shelf said “yes, I’m a bit of a nerd, but look at how cultured I am!” He was going to have to deal with the mugs in his cupboard; it had seemed like such a good idea at the time with his array of quirky mugs, especially seeing as no one ever came over to see him, and there was no time for him to nip to IKEA and buy a matching set of bland mugs in case Bond wanted a cuppa.  
  
There was the chance he was overthinking everything. It was more likely that Bond would march in to Q’s flat, manhandle him to the bed, have his way with him and then leave. Why would he be hanging around afterwards, drinking tea from a Tom Baker mug? Taking mental notes about how Boba Fett’s head didn’t bob as much as the others.  
  
“Always better to be prepared, Q,” Q muttered to himself, wrestling the towels from the dryer. He hung several in the bathroom, folding the rest and setting them in the airing cupboard. He’d just finished rinsing the mug he’d been drinking from, setting it on the draining board when there was a knock at the door. He could feel his pulse quicken, his hands becoming suddenly clammy -- _how attractive_.  
  
He cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his slacks before marching over to the door, taking a deep breath and pulling it open. Bond was lounging casually against the doorframe, reading the label of a bottle of wine. He smirked up at Q, obviously able to tell how nervous the smaller man was.  
  
“You drink, yes?”  
  
Q nodded dumbly, trying to find his words. “Yes.”  
  
Bond grinned, slipping past in to the flat, taking a quick glance around. Q silently chastised himself for being nervous and shut the door, turning to watch Bond wander in to his kitchen. He followed, saying nothing as Bond went through his cupboards to find wine glasses, finding two Q didn’t even know he owned.  
  
“I hope you haven’t eaten, I ordered for some Thai food to be sent here... You don’t have allergies, do you?”  
  
“No I haven’t eaten, and no allergies... Well, aside from my grass allergy, but...”  
  
Bond chuckled, passing a full glass of wine to Q, their fingers brushing. “Of course you have a grass allergy.”  
  
Q smirked. “It came in very handy as a child. I was allowed to sit indoors.”  
  
“It shows... So, are you going to show me around or not?”  
  
Q took a quick sip of the wine to calm his nerves and nodded. “There’s not much to see, but if you insist...”  
  
He led 007 through his flat, finally relaxing when Bond made some derogatory comment to which he had the perfect response.  
  
“Plain sheets? Here I thought you’d have a Star Trek bed-spread.”  
  
Q rolled his eyes; “they only come in single bed size, otherwise I assure you, you’d be very put off by McCoy’s stare.”  
  
Bond snorted, following Q through to his office. After his quip about all the screens making Q’s eyes go square, Q responded with a scientific reason why he was an idiot and led a stunned and silent MI-6 agent back through to the living room.  
  
“To be honest, Q, I expected worse,” Bond smirked, sitting himself down on the sofa. Q narrowed his eyes, sitting beside him.  
  
“Worse?”  
  
Bond nodded, polishing off his glass and reaching for the wine he’d brought with him. “I caught an episode of this show called... The Big Bang Theory?”  
  
Q laughed, motioning for Bond to fill his glass too. “With all due respect, Bond, TV is not real life. And I am not in any way as bad as Sheldon Cooper.”  
  
Bond grinned. “That was his name! I take it you’re a fan?”  
  
“The humour’s a little misplaced, but it could be worse.”  
  
“I’m surprised you get the time to watch any TV.”  
  
Q smirked, sinking back in to the cushions. “I’m just full of surprises, huh?”  
  
“Oh, I’d say so...”  
  
The Thai food finally arrived, Q was pleasantly surprised to find Bond had ordered him something he actually liked, despite hardly knowing him. Their wine glasses barely emptied as they ate and talked, the conversation nicely light for dinner. After two glasses, Q found himself to be barely affected by the seductive glances Bond kept on giving him, instead just smiling back and finding a casual reason to shuffle closer.  
  
After they’d eaten, Q found himself quite close to Bond, their thighs pushed together, Bond’s arm casually draped over the back of the sofa, his fingers occasionally playing with the tips of Q’s hair. Q was happily buzzed, laughing at Bond’s jokes, the two of the quipping back and forth.  
  
Everything finally heated the moment Bond placed his empty wine glass on the coffee table and slowly slid it up Q’s thigh. Q’s breath caught in his throat, shifting his gaze from the hand up to Bond’s face. His pupils were noticeably dilated, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Q found himself copying his actions, keeping his eyes fixed on Bond and he leant over to put his glass down. As he leant back in to the sofa, he found himself leaning forward too, Bond’s other hand curling around, hand resting on the space between his shoulder blades.  
  
Q gingerly reached out, taking a hold of Bond’s tie, pulling him close enough for their lips to brush. Neither made any real move to close the gap, their breaths mingling as their eyes slowly fluttered closed. Q softly brushed his nose against Bond’s, letting out a quiet sigh; Bond’s hand stroked against the inside of Q’s thigh before he raised it to cup his quartermaster’s cheek, pulling his face closer and closing the gap.  
  
Q let out a little grunt as their lips smashed together, his hand reaching out to grab Bond’s side, holding on as he was pulled closer. Bond hummed appreciatively, licking his way in to Qs mouth, his thumb stroking the quartermaster’s defined cheek bones, his hands slipping down to cradle his thin neck.  
  
“Have you any idea how hard it was to not march in to Q-branch all day and take you right there on your desk?” Bond muttered against Q’s lips. Q moaned, pushing his leg forward, forcing it in between Bond’s.  
  
“I have a vague idea.”  
  
Bond groaned as Q shoved his thigh up against his crotch, grinding down against it; he grabbed at Q’s shoulder, pulling him on top of him as he lay back against the arm of the sofa. Q smirked, bracing an arm beside Bond’s head, leaning down to recapture his lips in a searing kiss. Bond wasted no time in getting Q undressed, sliding a hand underneath his cardigan, bunching his hands in his shirt once again, tugging it free of his slacks. Q returned the gesture, tugging at Bond’s tie with his free hand, trailing his hand down his chest, undoing shirt buttons as he went.  
  
The kisses became fierce, all tongue and teeth, the two men panting heavily and grunting as they tried to free one another from their clothing. Bond’s jacket and shirt and Q’s cardigan were thrown over the back of the sofa, Q’s shirt and Bond’s belt finding a home on the floor by the coffee table. Q stopped the kiss to finally take his glasses off, carefully placing them on the coffee table, next to the empty wine bottle. Bond sat up, softly curling his hands around Q’s waist.  
  
“Come on, this will be ten times better in a bed.”  
  
Q smirked as Bond wrapped his legs around his waist, picking him up easily. “Just ten times better?”  
  
Bond chuckled, kissing along Q’s collar, walking them to the bedroom.  
  
“Either the bed sex is not very good, or the sofa sex is bloody fantastic.”  
  
“The second one,” Bond grinned, pushing Q up against the doorframe to his room, quickly working his belt off and throwing it somewhere.  
  
“I do hope I’m offered the chance to compare,” Q gasped, Bond biting down on his collar bone. Bond snorted, tossing the quartermaster down on the bed, covering his body with his own.  
  
“We’ll see, shall we?”  
  
Q chuckled, keeping his eyes trained on Bond as he kissed his way down his pale chest. “I should tell you, as a scientist it may kill me to not find out.”  
  
Bond groaned, pushing Q further on to the bed as he fumbled with his fly. “If you’re good, we can do it wherever you like. I promise.”  
  
Q smirked, watching Bond shuck off his trousers before working on his own. Once they were down to just their boxers, Bond crawled back on top of Q, his hands mapping out his thin body, fingers tangling in his messy hair. Q held on to Bond’s strong shoulders, his fingers digging in to the muscle, concentrating on the feel of Bond’s tongue stroking against his own.  
  
“Q...”  
  
“Bedside table.”  
  
Bond smirked, quickly leaning over to the table to pull out the essentials, straddling Q’s thighs, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his boxers. He slid them down, noticing the way the quartermaster’s milky-white thighs trembled ever so slightly, hunching over and pressing kisses in to his hipbones. Q let out a quiet whimper, his hand finding the top of Bond’s head, his fingers carding through the cropped hair. Bond trailed kisses down Q’s hip, and down the inside of his thigh, nipping softly, soothing the bites with swipes of his tongues.  
  
“Less of that, Double-Oh. I have enough bite marks already.”  
  
Bond chuckled, pushing Q’s thighs apart and reaching for the small bottle lying further up the bed.  
  
“And Bond?”  
  
Bond rolled his eyes, humming his acknowledgement whilst flicking open the cap.  
  
“I’m not a fairy princess, please don’t treat me like one.”  
  
Bond glanced up, grinning at Q’s dirty smirk. “Will you stop telling me how to do this and just let me do this?”  
  
“Oh yes, go ahead.”  
  
Q let his eyes flutter closed, waiting. He groaned loudly when the first slick finger breached him, his head grinding back against the covers as Bond hushed quiet words of encouragement. Slowly working his finger inside, Bond pressed a litany of kisses to Q’s hip and thigh, relishing the small, quiet whimpers that fell from the quartermaster.  
  
“Come on, Bond. I said I’m not a fairy princess.”  
  
Bond smirked, dragging his teeth along Q’s hipbone. “I know... And you can call me James, you know.”  
  
“Okay then, _James_. Get a bloody move on would you?”  
  
Doing as he was told, for once, Bond roughly worked in a second finger, Q’s back arching up from the bed as he moaned. Bond smirked, kissing the crease of his thigh, nibbling softly on his flushed skin whilst scissoring his fingers, working the quartermaster thoroughly until he was a stretch of pliant, gangly limbs on the bed. Q writhed and moaned, a thin sheen of sweat covering his body as he tried his best to distract himself, thinking of codes and algorithms, thinking of how his skin became horribly red and itchy when he lay on the grass.  
  
“Enough with the foreplay, Bond. Get on with it.”  
  
Bond tutted, curling his fingers making Q arch off the bed again. “So demanding. Patience is a virtue.”  
  
Q groaned, his fingers twisting in the bed-sheets. “Sod patience, just hurry up!”  
  
Smirking, Bond withdrew his fingers, chuckling at Q’s moan at the loss. He grabbed at the condom lying on the bed, leaning over Q as he finally slid off his boxers.  
  
“Q, open your eyes,” he muttered, tearing the packet open with his teeth. Q let out a quiet whimper.  
  
“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”  
  
Bond chuckled, rolling on the condom and positioning himself, reaching up to stroke Q’s face with his clean hand. “Come on, Q. Look at me.”  
  
Q’s eyes twitched as he slowly blinked them open, letting them adjust to see Bond’s face hovering a few inches above him. Bond smirked, pressing a quick kiss to Q’s brow.  
  
“Good boy.”  
  
“Fuck y-”  
  
Q cut himself off with a loud groan as Bond pushed his way in, his hands grappling to find some purchase on Bond’s shoulders. Bond stilled, allowing Q to get used to the intrusion, showering his face with little kisses, stroking his thumb along the grooves of his ribcage.  
  
“Christ... Bond...” Q choked, trying to gulp down breaths as he found his bearings.  
  
“I said, call me James,” Bond responded, flicking his tongue against Q’s earlobe, teasing it between his teeth.  
  
“If you insist, James... Now hurry up, put your back in to it.”  
  
Bond chuckled, pressing one last kiss to the corner of Q’s mouth before pulling out and thrusting back in. Q’s eyes fell shut again, his mouth hanging open but no sound coming out. Bond quickly found a rhythm, holding one of Q’s legs around his waist, feeling too close already from the tight heat surrounding him. Q, however, didn’t seem to be too far off either, mumbling “fuck, fuck, fuck,” under his breath.  
  
“Come on, Q... Come on,” Bond grunted, his thrusts becoming sharper, harder. Q continued whimpering, his fingers digging in even harder to the thick muscle of Bond’s back, leaving small crescent indentations from his nails.  
  
“Bond... Close... Fuck... Bond...”  
  
Bond nodded, resting his forehead against Q’s, pressing frantic kisses to his plush lips as he thrust even harder, swallowing the moans coming from his quartermaster. Five more thrusts and Q was arching off the bed again, groaning loudly as he came, striping come up his stomach. Bond groaned in to the crook of Q’s neck, his pace faltering as he followed Q over the edge.  
  
“Shit... Q...”  
  
Q let out a nervous chuckle, smoothing his hands over Bond’s back, breathing heavily. “The feeling’s mutual.”  
  
Bond let out a loud sigh, rolling to the side of Q, wiping a hand over his face. “Worth the wait?”  
  
Q snorted, flinging his arm over his eyes. “I suppose.”  
  
Bond scowled, sliding off the condom and tying it off, dropping it in the bin beside the bed. “Suppose?”  
  
“Well, I do hope it only gets better.”  
  
“We’ll see, won’t we.”  
  
Q smiled, pulling his arm away and looking over at Bond. “I suppose I look forward to it... If you’ll excuse me, I’m dirty and must take a shower. Make yourself at home.”  
  
Bond grinned, watching Q slink towards the bathroom, hearing the shower running a few moments later. He stared up at the ceiling for a while, letting his heartbeat even out before sliding from the bed, pulling his boxers and trousers on, padding through to the kitchen. The clock on the wall said it was just gone midnight; Bond quickly turned on the kettle, stretching his arms above his head. Whilst the water boiled, he wandered to the living room, grabbing his shirt from the back of the sofa, slipping it on but not doing up the buttons. Back in the kitchen, he rooted through the cupboards for a mug to use. He didn’t fancy the Darth Vader one, or the Captain Kirk one; he was torn between Tom Baker and the periodic table of elements, snorting at the notion that the hardest decision he’d had to make all day was over which bloody cup to use for tea.  
  
He finally decided on Tom Baker, grabbing Q’s mug from the draining board. Whilst he waited for Q to finish his shower, he took a quick nose around the living room, smiling at the collection of novels on the bookshelves, tapping each Star Wars figurine’s head, watching them all nod back and forth -- except Boba Fett. He wandered back in to the kitchen, leaning against the cupboards when Q padded in, wet from his shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. Bond smiled at the state of him, droplets of water dripping down his pale chest, love-bites from earlier standing out proudly on his neck, his hair flattened against his forehead, he almost wanted to take him back to bed and have his way with him once more.  
  
Q smiled up at Bond, noticing the cup of tea in his mug. “This for me?”  
  
Bond nodded, reaching out to grab Q’s skinny arm, pulling him against his chest. “Have a nice shower?”  
  
Q hummed, taking a sip of his tea, resting his wet head against Bond’s bare chest. “Very refreshing.”  
  
Bond put his mug down on the counter, wrapping both arms around Q, not wanting to let go. “Did you know Boba Fett’s head doesn’t bob as much?”  
  
Q snorted, pressing a quick kiss to Bond’s neck. “Yes. I hoped you wouldn’t bring that up.”  
  
“Could it be to do with his childhood trauma?”  
  
Failing to hold back a laugh, Q put his mug down too, looking up at Bond. “You think my Boba Fett figurine is plagued with post-traumatic stress disorder over seeing his father decapitated?”  
  
Bond shrugged, smirking. “He could be.”  
  
“I didn’t take you for a Star Wars fan, Bond.”  
  
“Well, we had to do something in the Stone Age. You know, because I’m so old.”  
  
Q laughed again, pressing a chaste kiss to Bond’s lips, enjoying the warmth of his arms circled around his waist. “You’re an idiot.”  
  
“We can’t all have genius-level intellect.”


End file.
